Meanwhile time was passing on for the prisoner, as well as
for those who were preparing his escape; only for him it
passed more slowly. Unlike other men, who enter with ardor
upon a perilous resolution and grow cold as the moment of
execution approaches, the Duc de Beaufort, whose buoyant
courage had become a proverb, seemed to push time before him
and sought most eagerly to hasten the hour of action. In his
escape alone, apart from his plans for the future, which, it
must be admitted, were for the present sufficiently vague
and uncertain, there was a beginning of vengeance which
filled his heart. In the first place his escape would be a
serious misfortune to Monsieur de Chavigny, whom he hated
for the petty persecutions he owed to him. It would be a
still worse affair for Mazarin, whom he execrated for the
greater offences he had committed. It may be observed that
there was a proper proportion in his sentiments toward the
governor of the prison and the minister -- toward the
subordinate and the master.

Then Monsieur de Beaufort, who was so familiar with the
interior of the Palais Royal, though he did not know the
relations existing between the queen and the cardinal,
pictured to himself, in his prison, all that dramatic
excitement which would ensue when the rumor should run from
the minister's cabinet to the chamber of Anne of Austria:
"Monsieur de Beaufort has escaped!" Whilst saying that to
himself, Monsieur de Beaufort smiled pleasantly and imagined
himself already outside, breathing the air of the plains and
the forests, pressing a strong horse between his knees and
crying out in a loud voice, "I am free!"

It is true that on coming to himself he found that he was
still within four walls; he saw La Ramee twirling his thumbs
ten feet from him, and his guards laughing and drinking in
the ante-chamber. The only thing that was pleasant to him in
that odious tableau -- such is the instability of the human
mind -- was the sullen face of Grimaud, for whom he had at
first conceived such a hatred and who now was all his hope.
Grimaud seemed to him an Antinous. It is needless to say
that this transformation was visible only to the prisoner's
feverish imagination. Grimaud was still the same, and
therefore he retained the entire confidence of his superior,
La Ramee, who now relied upon him more than he did upon
himself, for, as we have said, La Ramee felt at the bottom
of his heart a certain weakness for Monsieur de Beaufort.

And so the good La Ramee made a festivity of the little
supper with his prisoner. He had but one fault -- he was a
gourmand; he had found the pates good, the wine excellent.
Now the successor of Pere Marteau had promised him a pate of
pheasant instead of a pate of fowl, and Chambertin wine
instead of Macon. All this, set off by the presence of that
excellent prince, who was so good-natured, who invented so
droll tricks against Monsieur de Chavigny and so fine jokes
against Mazarin, made for La Ramee the approaching Pentecost
one of the four great feasts of the year. He therefore
looked forward to six o'clock with as much impatience as the
duke himself.

Since daybreak La Ramee had been occupied with the
preparations, and trusting no one but himself, he had
visited personally the successor of Pere Marteau. The latter
had surpassed himself; he showed La Ramee a monstrous pate,
ornamented with Monsieur de Beaufort's coat-of-arms. It was
empty as yet, but a pheasant and two partridges were lying
near it. La Ramee's mouth watered and he returned to the
duke's chamber rubbing his hands. To crown his happiness,
Monsieur de Chavigny had started on a journey that morning
and in his absence La Ramee was deputy-governor of the
chateau.

In the course of the forenoon Monsieur de Beaufort had a
game of tennis with La Ramee; a sign from Grimaud put him on
the alert. Grimaud, going in advance, followed the course
which they were to take in the evening. The game was played
in an inclosure called the little court of the chateau, a
place quite deserted except when Monsieur de Beaufort was
playing; and even then the precaution seemed superfluous,
the wall was so high.

There were three gates to open before reaching the
inclosure, each by a different key. When they arrived
Grimaud went carelessly and sat down by a loophole in the
wall, letting his legs dangle outside. It was evident that
there the rope ladder was to be attached.

This manoeuvre, transparent to the Duc de Beaufort, was
quite unintelligible to La Ramee.

The game at tennis, which, upon a sign from Grimaud,
Monsieur de Beaufort had consented to play, began in the
afternoon. The duke was in full strength and beat La Ramee
completely.

Four of the guards, who were constantly near the prisoner,
assisted in picking up the tennis balls. When the game was
over, the duke, laughing at La Ramee for his bad play,
offered these men two louis d'or to go and drink his health,
with their four other comrades.

The guards asked permission of La Ramee, who gave it to
them, but not till the evening, however; until then he had
business and the prisoner was not to be left alone.

Six o'clock came and, although they were not to sit down to
table until seven o'clock, dinner was ready and served up.
Upon a sideboard appeared the colossal pie with the duke's
arms on it, and seemingly cooked to a turn, as far as one
could judge by the golden color which illuminated the crust.

Every one was impatient, La Ramee to sit down to table, the
guards to go and drink, the duke to escape.

Grimaud alone was calm as ever. One might have fancied that
Athos had educated him with the express forethought of such
a great event.

There were moments when, looking at Grimaud, the duke asked
himself if he was not dreaming and if that marble figure was
really at his service and would grow animated when the
moment came for action.

La Ramee sent away the guards, desiring them to drink to the
duke's health, and as soon as they were gone shut all the
doors, put the keys in his pocket and showed the table to
the prince with an air that signified:

The prince looked at Grimaud, Grimaud looked at the clock;
it was hardly a quarter-past six. The escape was fixed to
take place at seven o'clock; there was therefore
three-quarters of an hour to wait.

The duke, in order to pass away another quarter of an hour,
pretended to be reading something that interested him and
muttered that he wished they would allow him to finish his
chapter. La Ramee went up to him and looked over his
shoulder to see what sort of a book it was that had so
singular an influence over the prisoner as to make him put
off taking his dinner.

It was "Caesar's Commentaries," which La Ramee had lent him,
contrary to the orders of the governor; and La Ramee
resolved never again to disobey these injunctions.

Meantime he uncorked the bottles and went to smell if the
pie was good.

"Because he left no Commentaries," replied La Ramee, with
his coarse laugh.

The duke vouchsafed no reply, but sitting down at the table
made a sign that La Ramee should seat himself opposite.
There is nothing so expressive as the face of an epicure who
finds himself before a well spread table, so La Ramee, when
receiving his plate of soup from Grimaud, presented a type
of perfect bliss.

"Zounds!" he said; "I don't suppose there is a more
contented man at this moment in all the kingdom than
yourself!"

"You are right, my lord duke," answered the officer; "I
don't know any pleasanter sight on earth than a well covered
table; and when, added to that, he who does the honors is
the grandson of Henry IV., you will, my lord duke, easily
comprehend that the honor fairly doubles the pleasure one
enjoys."

The duke, in his turn, bowed, and an imperceptible smile
appeared on the face of Grimaud, who kept behind La Ramee.

"My dear La Ramee," said the duke, "you are the only man to
turn such faultless compliments."

"No, my lord duke," replied La Ramee, in the fullness of his
heart; "I say what I think; there is no compliment in what I
say to you ---- "

"To own the truth, I should be inconsolable if you were to
leave Vincennes."

"A droll way of showing your affliction." The duke meant to
say "affection."

"But, my lord," returned La Ramee, "what would you do if you
got out? Every folly you committed would embroil you with
the court and they would put you into the Bastile, instead
of Vincennes. Now, Monsieur de Chavigny is not amiable, I
allow, but Monsieur du Tremblay is considerably worse."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the duke, who from time to time looked
at the clock, the fingers of which seemed to move with
sickening slowness.

"But what can you expect from the brother of a capuchin
monk, brought up in the school of Cardinal Richelieu? Ah, my
lord, it is a great happiness that the queen, who always
wished you well, had a fancy to send you here, where there's
a promenade and a tennis court, good air, and a good table."

"In short," answered the duke, "if I comprehend you aright,
La Ramee, I am ungrateful for having ever thought of leaving
this place?"

"Oh! my lord duke, 'tis the height of ingratitude; but your
highness has never seriously thought of it?"

"I am listening," said La Ramee, leaning back in his
armchair and raising his glass of Madeira to his lips, and
winking his eye that he might see the sun through the rich
liquid that he was about to taste.

Grimaud placed the pie before the duke, who took a knife
with a silver blade to raise the upper crust; but La Ramee,
who was afraid of any harm happening to this fine work of
art, passed his knife, which had an iron blade, to the duke.

"In a game of tennis?" asked La Ramee, giving more serious
attention to the duke's words.

"Yes; see, I send a ball into the moat; a man is there who
picks it up; the ball contains a letter. Instead of
returning the ball to me when I call for it from the top of
the wall, he throws me another; that other ball contains a
letter. Thus we have exchanged ideas and no one has seen us
do it."

"The devil it does! The devil it does!" said La Ramee,
scratching his head; "you are in the wrong to tell me that,
my lord. I shall have to watch the men who pick up balls."

"Well, La Ramee, who is a gourmand, sees his pates, thinks
them more attractive than those of Pere Marteau and proposes
to me that I shall try them. I consent on condition that La
Ramee tries them with me. That we may be more at our ease,
La Ramee removes the guards, keeping only Grimaud to wait on
us. Grimaud is the man whom a friend has sent to second me
in everything. The moment for my escape is fixed -- seven
o'clock. Well, at a few minutes to seven ---- "

"At a few minutes to seven?" cried La Ramee, cold sweat upon
his brow.

"At a few minutes to seven," returned the duke (suiting the
action to the words), "I raise the crust of the pie; I find
in it two poniards, a ladder of rope, and a gag. I point one
of the poniards at La Ramee's breast and I say to him, `My
friend, I am sorry for it, but if thou stirrest, if thou
utterest one cry, thou art a dead man!'"

The duke, in pronouncing these words, suited, as we have
said, the action to the words. He was standing near the
officer and he directed the point of the poniard in such a
manner, close to La Ramee's heart, that there could be no
doubt in the mind of that individual as to his
determination. Meanwhile, Grimaud, still mute as ever, drew
from the pie the other poniard, the rope ladder and the gag.

La Ramee followed all these objects with his eyes, his alarm
every moment increasing.

"Oh, my lord," he cried, with an expression of stupefaction
in his face; "you haven't the heart to kill me!"

La Ramee stretched out his legs, Grimaud took a table-cloth,
tore it into strips and tied La Ramee's feet together.

"Now, my lord," said the poor man, "let me have the poire
d'angoisse. I ask for it; without it I should be tried in a
court of justice because I did not raise the alarm. Thrust
it into my mouth, my lord, thrust it in."

Grimaud prepared to comply with this request, when the
officer made a sign as if he had something to say.

In a second La Ramee was gagged and laid prostrate. Two or
three chairs were thrown down as if there had been a
struggle. Grimaud then took from the pocket of the officer
all the keys it contained and first opened the door of the
room in which they were, then shut it and double-locked it,
and both he and the duke proceeded rapidly down the gallery
which led to the little inclosure. At last they reached the
tennis court. It was completely deserted. No sentinels, no
one at any of the windows. The duke ran to the rampart and
perceived on the other side of the ditch, three cavaliers
with two riding horses. The duke exchanged a signal with
them. It was indeed for him that they were there.

This was not, however, a rope ladder, but a ball of silk
cord, with a narrow board which was to pass between the
legs, the ball to unwind itself by the weight of the person
who sat astride upon the board.

And instantly, Grimaud, sitting upon the board as if on
horseback, commenced his perilous descent.

The duke followed him with his eyes, with involuntary
terror. He had gone down about three-quarters of the length
of the wall when the cord broke. Grimaud fell --
precipitated into the moat.

The duke uttered a cry, but Grimaud did not give a single
moan. He must have been dreadfully hurt, for he did not stir
from the place where he fell.

Immediately one of the men who were waiting slipped down
into the moat, tied under Grimaud's shoulders the end of a
cord, and the remaining two, who held the other end, drew
Grimaud to them.

"Descend, my lord," said the man in the moat. "There are
only fifteen feet more from the top down here, and the grass
is soft."

The duke had already begun to descend. His task was the more
difficult, as there was no board to support him. He was
obliged to let himself down by his hands and from a height
of fifty feet. But as we have said he was active, strong,
and full of presence of mind. In less than five minutes he
arrived at the end of the cord. He was then only fifteen
feet from the ground, as the gentlemen below had told him.
He let go the rope and fell upon his feet, without receiving
any injury.

He instantly began to climb up the slope of the moat, on the
top of which he met De Rochefort. The other two gentlemen
were unknown to him. Grimaud, in a swoon, was tied securely
to a horse.

"Gentlemen," said the duke, "I will thank you later; now we
have not a moment to lose. On, then! on! those who love me,
follow me!"

And he jumped on his horse and set off at full gallop,
snuffing the fresh air in his triumph and shouting out, with
an expression of face which it would be impossible to
describe: